


Eight Nights

by CelestialSeaWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Hanukkah, Harmony & Co's Advent Collection 2020, Jewish Holidays, Long Shot, One Shot, Romance, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialSeaWitch/pseuds/CelestialSeaWitch
Summary: It's ten days to Christmas when Harry's and Hermione's portkey to a work conference in Canada goes wrong. They end up stuck in the middle of a snowy forest in the dead of winter with no clue how to get word to a magical community. An AU long-shot in which the war never happened, Harry was a Slytherin, and Hermione was never his friend.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 76
Kudos: 263
Collections: Harmony Advent Collection 2020





	Eight Nights

**Author's Note:**

> We're a few days into Hanukkah already, but the first night was on the tenth so, Happy Hanukkah-Hanukah-Hannukah-Chanukah (or however which way you spell it yourself -- I, personally, lean towards Hanukkah) to you, your friends, and your family! ❤️

# Night One

~*~

The portkey had malfunctioned. It was tied to a Christmas cracker -- the British Ministry of Magic’s inane idea of being festive -- and was set to go off at exactly eleven at night. They would arrive in Canada at six of the same night and after passing through immigration would be whisked off to the Chateau Laurier in Ottawa. Tomorrow was the first day in a week-long conference for the International Confederation of Wizards. 

But the portkey had not dropped them off at the Canadian Ministry of Magic. The British Ministry’s idea of festivity had backfired. The cracker had snapped mid portkey. Magic fired off in all directions. Hermione screamed as a flare from the cracker burned against her collarbone. She fell back into a pile of snow so thick that there was a thin sheet of ice over the top. It cracked from her weight and she sunk down two inches. 

The first thing she noted was that it was nearly pitch black. There were stars in the sky -- more stars than she’d ever seen in her life. The moon was partially clouded by dark, angry-looking clouds. Hermione stared up at the thunderous sky and wondered if it had just finished snowing or if more was yet to come.

As if in answer to her question, a single snowflake drifted down from between long-fingered tree branches and touched the tip of her nose. Hermione’s lashes fluttered in wonder. The sky began to spin lazily around her.

“Fuck!” 

Hermione gasped at the angry rasp. The voice came from further off into the darkness. Potter. It was Potter, she realized in a distant, foggy way. 

She attempted to push herself up from the snowbank. Her right hand immediately sunk deeper into the compact snow. She tried to use her left hand next and stopped when a searing pain shot across her chest.

Hermione cried out in shock. She fell back against the snowbank and whined when her collarbone burned. It was hot, she realized. Why was it hot? Everything else was so cold. Her breath hung visibly in the air before her. But her collarbone felt like it was on fire. She vaguely remembered the flare that had erupted from the cracker and whined again, sounding like a pained animal.

“Granger!” she heard Potter shout. His voice carried through the silence of the forest. It sounded far away. “Granger!”

“‘M here,” she responded hoarsely. The stars above her blurred in and out of focus. Did stars normally do that? Perhaps that was a unique feature in Canada. How lovely. “Here,” she croaked out before she swallowed thickly. Her legs flailed as she tried to get out of the snow patch again. Her collarbone seared in pain with every move. 

“Granger!” His voice was a little closer.

Hermione’s foggy mind cleared momentarily. Her entire back, arse, and legs were freezing. Her fingers felt numb. It was imperative that she got out of the snow pile. Clenching her teeth, Hermione used what little stomach muscles she had and hauled herself forward. Her curls fell forward onto the burn and her cloak shifted across the wound, jarring the injury harshly.

Hermione screamed.

She fell forward and stumbled to keep her feet under her. The pain in her chest burned and she felt it reverberate inside her skull. Her teeth ground together as a pained moan escaped her. Tears escaped her eyes before she even realized that they’d accumulated.

“Granger?” There was a crunch of snow just before hands gripped her upper arms. Hermione cried out in pain and Harry jumped back in shock. “Shit. Are you hurt?”

Hermione gasped for breath as the world swam around her. She was going to be sick. 

Bright blue lights flared to life. They swirled up around their heads, increasing Hermione’s nausea. A light flashed in her eyes and she swayed backward. “Hey, look at me, Granger.” Fingers cupped her chin. Hermione stumbled backward. “ _Granger_.”

She bent to the side and was immediately sick. 

“Oh, fuck.”

Hands gathered her hair out of her face. Tears streamed down Hermione’s cheeks. Her nose ran and frosted over on her upper lip. She coughed after she finished emptying her stomach into the snow. Hermione groaned in pain. 

“Shit, Granger. You’re soaked through,” Harry hissed as he helped her stand upright. “What’d you do? Take a dip in the snow?”

She pressed a freezing hand to her forehead. She felt a little less nauseous. The bluebell flames that Harry had conjured were finally floating in one place. Hermione swallowed and her face screwed up at the vile taste on her tongue. She shook her head involuntarily -- god, that was disgusting.

“Granger? Hermione!”

She looked up when he called her by her first name. It sounded foreign on his tongue. “I fell,” she replied lamely.

Harry shook his head at her. “You’ve definitely got a concussion.” He looked around the dark forest. “Fuck, it’s freezing. I’m gonna kill the bloody Weasley twins for their stupid holiday crackers.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself despite the pain in her chest. Her entire body vibrated as she shivered violently. Harry waved his wand and a warming charm fell over the both of them. It didn’t stop the cold. “Shit,” he cursed again. He rubbed his hands together. “Why is it so _bloody cold_?”

“It’s Canada,” Hermione responded like that answered everything. She certainly thought it did.

He sighed. “Our portkey got fucked. Have you ever been here before?” She shook her head. “Me either. Damn. How the hell are we supposed to apparate to safety? We’ll end up in the bleeding Pacific.”

“More likely splinched,” she corrected lightly like they were debating the weather.

He eyed her warily. “Let me see your wound.” Hermione, in a completely uncharacteristic fashion, dropped her arms and let him inspect the burn on her collarbone. She was usually far more obstinate than that, especially where Harry was concerned. “How did you get _burned_?”

“The cracker had a flare.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course it did.” The bluebells moved closer to them. Harry ducked his head, his broad shoulders hunching as he inspected the wound. She couldn’t see it very well herself. She was a little scared to look. “We need to cover this. I can treat it later.”

“Are you a healer?”

Harry’s eyes flickered up. They looked like glittering gems in the reflection of the bluebell flames. “Yeah. I came to talk at the convention about my research.”

“Oh.”

Harry glanced down at her cloak. “You’ve got a dress on underneath, right?” She glanced down at herself. Her mind still felt a bit light and foggy. Her thoughts were moving at a snail’s pace. She nodded. “Great.” He dropped to his knees and Hermione let out a startled cry of alarm when Harry parted her cloak and picked up the hem of her skirt.

“What’re you doing?” She stumbled and grasped Harry’s shoulders to steady herself.

“Perfect.” He looked up at her. “I need something to cover the wound and your dress is good material. The fibres won’t interfere with my spells.” He cut a square from the bottom of her skirt and stood back up as he cast spells across the stolen material.

Hermione’s nose wrinkled. She wanted to complain, but she was too cold to care much. “Where are we going?”

Harry shot her a worried look. “Somewhere warm, hopefully.” He looked around the dark forest. “We’re going to need to find somewhere indoors to keep warm. We can’t camp in this weather. The temperature is eating through my warming charms far too rapidly. Hopefully, the Canadian Ministry will find us sooner rather than later.” He didn’t sound hopeful.

He finished his spells on the square of fabric and turned back to his patient. He pushed Hermione’s curls aside before gently pressing the cool fabric to her wound. Hermione didn’t know much about healing, but whatever he had done to the cloth helped seep the pain from her burn. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she pursed her lips. “I have a spell. It’s a finding spell.” She made a face. “I don’t think I can cast. I feel funny.”

“Common side effect of magical concussion. You’re going to feel a little punch drunk until it passes. I can treat it, but shelter is more important right now.” He raised his wand and shone a light in her eyes. Hermione blinked rapidly and looked away. “Can your spell find us shelter?”

“Yes?”

He shrugged and nodded. “Good enough for me. Show me the spell?” Hermione shook her head to clear it. The warming charm had worn off and the below-freezing night air woke her from her stupor. She walked Harry through the wand movements. He got it in a single try. The wand glowed brightly in the direction they needed to go to find shelter. “Come on, Granger.”

She stumbled along after him in the foot deep snow. He eventually grabbed her hand to keep her from falling behind. Their bluebell flames followed them, lighting their path. Harry periodically cast warming charms on both of them as they trekked through the dark forest. The snow that had only started to trickle down when they’d arrived began to fall more heavily. Harry’s head and shoulders were coated with big, soft snowflakes. 

Eventually, they found a path where the snow had been packed down from either many feet or a machine of some sort. The snow piled a little high on either side and the path itself was narrow, perhaps enough for a toboggan of some sort. Hermione’s spell guided them along the path and the two gratefully followed it. The snow was slowly starting to fill the path back up and by morning Hermione was certain it would be unusable again, but for now, it was a haven for their frozen feet and shivering forms.

Hermione spotted a fox dart off along the outskirts of their bubble of light. Weren’t there bears in Canada? Her hand tightened its grip on Harry’s. He shot her a warm smile. 

“Usually, I can’t stand you,” she informed him honestly. Talking filled the silence of the night. It eased the anxiety that was bubbling up inside her. They could be walking for _days_ before they found shelter. They could easily die if they didn’t find something before sunup. 

Harry huffed a laugh, startled by her admission. “Yeah, I remember, Granger.”

“You’re arrogant, which would be less annoying if you weren’t also pretty smart.”

“ _Pretty_ smart?” He sounded amused.

She wrinkled her nose. “You never had to study at Hogwarts. I worked my arse off!”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Yeah, and it showed. You were well above my GPA for the entire seven years.”

She stumbled along after him as she huffed. “Yes, but not from a lack of trying. You just,” she waved her free hand, “flew about Hogwarts and ruffled your hair like you thought you were important.”

He laughed loudly. “Oh, Merlin. Thank god, mum and dad didn’t hear that one.” Hermione glared. She didn’t get what was so funny. She was being serious! “I wasn’t that bad.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “We worked well as Heads in our final year.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I suppose you were okay… for a Slytherin.”

He laughed again. “I’m so glad I could have your approval, Granger. Perhaps I can get that in writing?”

She sniffed and turned her nose up. “Sure, if we don’t freeze to death.”

His hand tightened around hers. “I’ll hold you to it,” he replied quietly. The silence fell around them again like the heavy blanket of snow they were slowly being covered in.

Both were shaking from the cold and covered in snow when they finally found shelter. It was a single level cottage surrounded by woods on three sides and a short incline down to a lake on the last. A road wound through the forest that Hermione figured would lead them to the main road.

She couldn’t tell if the cottage was muggle or not from the outside, but there weren’t any magical wardings around the property. She mentioned this to Harry who nodded. “No car on the drive,” he added. He tugged on her hand. “Come on.”

He _alohamoraed_ the front door and the two frozen magicals shuffled inside. They shook the snow from their jackets and hair. Boots stomped against the floor mat at the door and snow was shed from their legs and feet. Hermione looked around with a pout. She couldn’t feel her toes. “It’s just as cold in here!” The front entrance was an addition to the cottage with a slanted roof and _faux_ wood floors. The right wall was made of clapboard like the outside of the cottage, showing where the original cottage had once ended. 

“Maybe it’ll be better inside,” Harry suggested between chattering teeth. He opened the second front door to the main cottage.

Hermione made a sound of disgust. “You’re getting mud everywhere,” she complained, nearly slipping on the water he’d tracked through the entrance.

“So are you.” He looked down at the wet floor. “It’s not mud. It’s slush.”

“I don’t like it.”

He rolled his eyes. Hermione’s obstinacy was back. He toed off his boots and kicked them to the side beside the door. “Happy?” She bent over to undo the laces on her boots and nearly fell over. Harry caught her and sat her down on the step that led to the main cottage. He bent down and began to unlace her boots. They were completely soaked through, much like his own. His socks were sodden and he could barely feel his toes. They needed to get warm before frostbite properly set in.

Hermione still had a little pout on her lips, her brows drawn together. Harry glanced up at her and huffed in amusement before he went back to undoing her laces. He set her shoes aside. “How’s that, princess?”

She glared at him. “Prick.”

He helped her to her feet. “Just get inside and let’s start a bleeding fire or something.”

Hermione entered the main cottage and looked around. A couch that sat to the left and a wall to the right created a small hallway into the rectangular-shaped room. Beyond the couch was the living area with another sofa that faced a little tele with the first. A little ways away from the tele and set against the far left wall was a cast-iron wood-burning stove heater. There was a kitchen stuck in the far right corner and a dining table that stretched across towards a sliding glass door in the opposite corner. A hallway opened up just before the kitchen, heading right and leading deeper into the cottage. 

“It’s still cold.”

“Clearly, no one’s been here for the winter.” Harry closed the door behind them and immediately made his way towards the stove heater. “This is like a fireplace, right?”

“It heats the whole house,” she told him absentmindedly as she looked at the pictures on the walls. They were still and in colour. “It’s muggle.” The cottage they’d found was free of any signs of magic. Harry didn’t answer as he began piling wood into the heater.

A crackle snapped in the air when he lit the fire. The room immediately grew brighter with the glow of it. Hermione moved like a moth to the flame. He regained his feet beside her and let out a relieved huff. “How long before the house is warm, do you think?”

“A while.” She curled her stocking covered toes against the cold wood floor. They were wet, like the bottom of her dress and most of her jacket. 

Harry began to pull his own wet jacket off and she stared at him with owlish eyes. Her mind was still fogged from her magical concussion. Everything moved at a snail’s pace before her. He began to unbutton his trousers and Hermione’s mind snapped back into place.

“What’re you doing?” she cried, unable to look away.

He looked up with obvious amusement on his face. “My trousers are soaked. I’m not getting hypothermia. I’ve got my trunk with me -- it’s shrunken down. You?”

She was staring at his open trousers that gaped around his crotch. She could see bright red boxers and what she thought might have been dancing candy canes. Harry Potter was undressing in front of her. “You’ll be naked,” she protested lamely.

He chuckled and shucked his trousers down his muscled legs. Her face burned hot. They _were_ dancing candy canes. “I’m just changing into something warmer. You need to do the same.”

His socks came off next and then he waved his wand and his trunk appeared on the coffee table in its proper size. He flicked it open and rummaged around for something warmer. He donned some sweat pants and a heavy jumper. Wool socks followed the ensemble.

It finally clicked for Hermione that she was _freezing_ and that really needed to stop. She dug around in her pocket for her shrunken purse and resized the black handbag to its normal size. Her hand disappeared inside the purse, followed shortly after by her elbow. From the depths of her enlarged purse, she pulled an entire suitcase. She set it down on the other end of the coffee table. 

A quick zip later and she opened the muggle suitcase. She frowned at what she found inside. She’d packed for a conference, not the bloody wilderness. There were a pair of leggings that she pulled out and fluffy pyjamas. The best she could do for a shirt was a tank top and thin cashmere pullover. 

Hermione peeled off her wet stockings and pulled the leggings on as quickly as she could. She hissed as she unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to the floor. The ache in her shoulder had returned with her jerky movements. She glanced down at the fabric that covered the burn.

“I should look at that.”

Hermione’s head shot up and she blushed. She wasn’t even wearing a shirt. She picked up her tank top and slowly eased it over her head. She pushed the material down lower on her chest than she normally would so that it wouldn’t disturb her wound. 

Harry was sitting in front of the heater with a healer’s bag beside him. Hermione grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch before she joined him by the fire. She shivered as the cold blanket was spread across both their laps. 

He had two packs in his hands, long and rectangular. They looked like ice packs that hadn’t been frozen. He charmed them before lifting the blanket and wrapping a set around her toes. She was forced to press them together and ended up with her knees to her chest and her arms loosely wrapped around them.

“Your toes are probably a lot worse off than mine with those shoes and stockings,” he explained. “I want to make sure we beat the frostbite before we wrap them in socks.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He set another long pack across his own wool-covered socks, tucked between his crossed legs. The blanket was moved back into place. Harry searched through his healer’s bag again.

“I didn’t know you became a healer,” Hermione said as she watched him work. He seemed very at ease with his chosen profession.

“I went into it at the ICW. I worked as a field medic and Hit Wizard for a few years before I came back and applied to get my specializations at St. Mungos.”

That was even more impressive, Hermione had to admit. The International Confederation of Wizards was extremely particular about who they admitted into their healing programs. To have straddled the line between medic and Hit Wizard was admirable and certainly gave away just how skilled he was as a wizard.

“Alright,” Harry said once he’d compiled the things he needed to treat her wound, “let’s have a look.” He shuffled closer and Hermione let go of her knees. She turned her head away and let Harry push back her curls and assess the burn. The cloth he’d charmed was still in place and he cast a spell on it before gently peeling it away.

Hermione waited patiently as he attended to her burn. He applied creams and ointments, cast a few spells, and then magically stuck a clean bandage to the area. “Well, you’ll certainly live.” He grinned cheekily at her and Hermione couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. “I have a potion for magical concussion in here.”

He went back to his healer’s bag and Hermione turned her attention to the fire. She already felt so much warmer. She could feel all her fingers and toes. Her arms were a little cold still, but she knew that would be gone once she was able to don her pullover -- no matter how thin it was. 

“Here.” Harry handed her a little blue potion and Hermione downed it in one. She grimaced at the taste and shook her head.

“Ugh.”

Harry laughed.

“Shut up, Potter.”

He tried to smother his chuckles with his hand, but his mirth was obvious. Hermione glared at him. Her head cleared. She felt her brain begin to pick up speed back to its usual pace. The slight drunkenness that the concussion had caused in her dissipated. Her cheeks burned hot. She was wearing a tank top. Harry had seen her in her _bra_. God, just kill her now.

She picked up her pullover and moved to put it on.

“Is that the best jumper you’ve got?”

Hermione scowled at him. “It’s not like I’m exactly packed for this.”

“You did pack for Canada, didn’t you?”

“I _packed_ for a conference that was to be held _inside_.” 

He raised his hand and a jumper flew out of his trunk and into his hand. Hermione bit back her gasp at his casual use of wandless magic. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know any herself, but he hadn’t even hesitated. “Here.” Hermione wrinkled her nose at the proffered jumper. “Granger, don’t be difficult and just take the damn thing.”

Hermione huffed before snatching the jumper from his hands. It was massive on her and cold from his suitcase, but it was loads thicker than her pullover. It smelled like him though. Hermione’s nostrils filled with the scent of wind and magic that always seemed to surround Harry Potter. It’d nearly driven her mad when they’d shared an office in their seventh year. 

Harry checked on her toes, and once he’d decided they were frostbite free, he handed her a pair of wool socks. She slipped them on and tucked herself under the blanket once more. They stared at each other for a moment, the flickering flames of the fire cast light across their faces. Their shadows danced around the room. A silent question filled the air.

Now what?

“Would they be able to find us here?” Hermione wondered. They’d travelled a fair bit from where they first landed. “Would they even know where the portkey let us off?” It was supposed to be in the Canadian Ministry of Magic, but that had clearly gone wrong due to the Christmas cracker. 

Harry shook his head. “I doubt it. Unless we’ve accidentally ended up in the US. The States would register it as an illegal portkey and come looking.”

“The American border is several hours from Ottawa, I think.” She didn’t know North American geography all that well.

“We don’t even know if we’re near Ottawa.”

He was right and Hermione groaned in annoyance. “How do we get word to officials about where we are?”

Harry shook his head and shrugged. “I could send a patronus, but it’s not like we know where we are right now.” A message would do little if they couldn’t explain where to find them.

“And a patronus charm can only travel so far,” Hermione put in. She picked at the blanket in her lap. “If it encounters a muggle, it’ll cancel.” The cottage was entirely muggle and it was likely they were in a muggle neighbourhood. The chances of the patronus getting to the ministry before it was cancelled was low.

They sighed.

Hermione looked around the cottage. “We’re in a muggle area though, we could go muggle.”

Harry’s brows furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“There’s probably a town nearby somewhere. We can go in the morning and send a letter.”

“A _letter_?”

“Do you have a better idea?” she snapped.

He raised his hands in a show of peace. “Won’t that take a while?”

She shrugged. “Probably. But at least we know it’d eventually get there.”

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Might as well stock up on food while we’re in town. Grab you something warmer to wear.” Hermione hid her surprise at his forethought. “Fuck, I’m exhausted.”

She glanced at her watch. “It’s well past midnight for us. I’m going to use the loo then we should get some sleep.” She grabbed her wand and headed towards the hall. The first door on the right ended up leading into a bathroom. Hermione flicked the wall switch and let out a relieved sigh when the lights turned on.

She used the facilities and cast a few charms on her mouth and teeth. It felt wonderful to get the taste of her sick off her tongue finally. With the magical concussion gone, doing magic didn’t feel so difficult. Hermione pulled her long, voluminous curls up into its usual pineapple ponytail that she wore to sleep each night. They were still wet from the snow and Hermione already knew they’d be a disaster in the morning. And she’d just spent hours on her hair yesterday so they’d be perfect for the week of the conference. What a joke.

When she entered the main room again, she saw that Harry had moved a mattress in front of the heater. Hermione joined him as he piled blankets on top of the double bed.

“It's still too cold in the rest of the house. We should sleep here tonight.” 

_We_ , he said. Hermione hugged herself. She had to admit she was uncomfortable with the thought, but under the circumstances, it made sense. Hermione nodded quickly before stepping onto the mattress. Harry disappeared into the loo while she made herself comfortable on the bed closer to the heater. 

The mattress dipped when he returned and he lied out beside her. Hermione stared into the fire. Her entire body was exhausted but she couldn’t find it in herself to sleep. 

“Do you think we’ll be back in time for Christmas?” Harry asked behind her. Despite his earlier comments about being exhausted, he sounded as awake as she was. 

“That’s ten days away,” she replied quietly.

“Yeah, well, my parents were already annoyed that I would be gone for the days leading up to it.” He shifted on the bed. “This conference is always poorly timed.”

Hermione hummed in agreement.

“Aren’t you worried we won’t be back for Christmas?” She shrugged. He huffed a laugh. “You’ve always been a bit of a grinch about Yule.”

Hermione rolled onto her back. She turned her head and glared at Harry. “A grinch? Fuck you.”

Harry’s brows raised. “Wow, Granger, I-”

“-People are such arseholes. I don’t need to be festive and shit sugarplums for Christmas, god.”

He raised his hands again and his shoulders hiked up to his ears. “Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Then what did you mean, Potter, when you called me a _grinch_?”

“Well,” he gestured with his hand, “in school you never wore Christmas colours. You didn’t seem overly happy at the feast before the break. You rolled your eyes when Hannah suggested we have a Yule dance. She nearly swallowed her tongue.” 

Hermione huffed. “Did it never occur to you that I don’t care about a silly Yule dance because I don’t _celebrate_ Christmas?”

A brief pause followed her statement. They stared at one another. “ _Do_ you celebrate Christmas?”

“No,” she replied simply. “We’re Jewish. I mean,” she rolled her eyes, “we celebrate Christmas commercially. Mum likes the idea of a Christmas tree and we’ll pick one if we’re home for the holidays. But we almost always travel to France or somewhere else. It’s really not a big deal if presents are involved or not.”

“I - I didn’t know.”

She shrugged. “Of course you didn’t. It’s not as if the Wizarding World is exactly _inclusive_. I got enough flack about being mixed, I didn’t see the point in bringing in the fact that I’m a mixed Jewish girl from _France_.”

Harry laughed. “You’re French?”

She raised her fingers and pinched them together to signify only a little. “My grandmother is from India and married my French grandfather -- I'd say it was progressive, but it was arranged. My mum was born in France, fell in love with my dad and ran off to England with him. My grandparents’ disowned her until she eventually had me and I turned out to be magical. I was raised bilingual and growing up I spent most of my holidays in France.”

He shook his head. “I had no idea.” He sat up to rest his chin in his hand. “Isn’t there a Jewish holiday coming up?”

“Hanukkah? Yeah, tonight was the first night, actually.”

“The first?”

“It lasts eight days,” she told him. “There’s a menorah, which is basically a candle holder, I guess. It’s got eight branches, one for each night. And a ninth in the centre.”

“What’s the ninth for?”

Hermione’s brows scrunched up and her cheeks tinged pink. “Well… okay, my dad always said it was for good luck, like on a birthday cake?” Harry nodded. “I doubt that’s true, but I’ve… never really bothered to look it up.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. A little grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “You?” He shook his head. “Pull the other one.”

Hermione laughed. “It’s true! It’s tradition, sort of. Just something I grew up with. I’d ask and he’d say, ‘it’s for luck, little bug’ and I’d wrinkle my nose and tell him he’s silly.” She smiled fondly and shrugged. “Why break tradition?”

“So… I guess you’re missing it then?” The conference was a week long. They’d be travelling back on the last night of Hanukkah. Well, they were supposed to, but who knew what was going to happen now. 

Hermione’s smile fell. She nodded. “Yeah. They were disappointed. But, I mean… it’s fine. They’re visiting my grandparents’ in France for the holidays anyway and I wouldn’t have been able to go this year, what with work and that new bill I’m trying to pass.” She meant the Muggle-born Voting Rights Bill that she was trying to have pushed through that would hopefully pave the way for muggle-borns to be allowed seats on the Wizengamot. It was ambitious, but it was her newest project after successfully implementing her House-Elf Rights Bill.

“But you’ll be alone on Christmas, won’t you?” She raised an eyebrow at him. He nodded. “Yeah, alright, but it’s still the _holidays_.”

“Well, depending on how long it takes for us to get rescued from the middle of nowhere, we might be spending Christmas together.” 

Harry swallowed and looked down. She could see the disappointment on his face and even though she didn’t really care about Christmas, she felt bad because she knew he did. He’d always been a ball of sunshine come the holidays. He forced a grin on his face and quipped, “I want a broom.”

She snorted. “I’m sure there’s one in the cupboard. Feel free to sweep in the morning.” She rolled back over to go to sleep.

“Oi.”

Hermione smiled into her pillow as Harry settled down behind her. The fire roared and crackled pleasantly in front of them. The peace and warmth lulled them both to sleep.

# Night Two

~*~

The sun had set far earlier than either of them was expecting it to. It had snowed all day and well into the night again. Hermione had the back porch light on so she could see the fat snowflakes drifting down onto the back deck. She sat on the kitchen table with her sock covered feet on the seat of a chair and a warm mug of cocoa in her hands as she watched the snowflakes dance in the wind. 

Harry and she had left the cottage that morning after a meagre breakfast of crackers, water, and a chocolate bar Harry had stashed in his trunk. They’d walked for two hours along the main road before they reached a town. The snow from the night before had covered everything in a calming, pristine white blanket. The sun in the sky wasn't even strong enough to melt the snow on the towering evergreen trees.

The town was really just a circular centre with some houses that branched off the main road. There was a single grocer, chemist, and no less than three camping supplies stores. They went to the supplies stores first and a few novelty stores that sold Native American made clothes, slippers, and jewellery. 

The two had stocked up on socks and jumpers before purchasing proper winter boots and warmer jackets. They split the costs between the two of them and shoved their purchases into Hermione’s little black purse. Harry had smirked at the sight of it and commented on its legality. Hermione had sniffed and tossed her curls back before walking away.

Through a few probing questions and a well-placed travel brochure, they’d been able to figure out that while they were in Canada, they were hours from Ottawa. There was a train and a few bus times. Hermione had taken the flyer for the information on the train’s schedule and to look at it when they got back at the cottage. While a train seemed promising, the constant snowfall had her fearing that it wouldn’t even be running. The bubbly cashier had kindly informed them that the snowfall from yesterday was simply 'average,' and that far more was to come. A blizzard was rolling in from the east coast and they were advised to make sure they were all packed up for a few days inside. The information did not ease either Harry or Hermione's concerns.

The post office was closed. They’d forgotten that it was a Sunday and realized they’d have to come back. Finally, they’d bought food and goods from the grocer -- enough for a week, at least -- before finding an alley to apparate back to the cottage.

“At least we don’t need to do the whole walk again tomorrow,” Harry had said and Hermione agreed with an annoyed look on her face. It just meant another day for the letter to be sent. Harry tried a patronus a few times, but neither held much hope that it would actually get very far. 

Harry was cooking a stew over the muggle oven, something Hermione had to help him use. It wasn’t like the magical equivalent at all. Unlike most wizards, Harry seemed to have at least a basic understanding of how muggle things worked and a little instruction from Hermione was all he needed to get it going.

“Peas?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. She turned and saw he had a frozen bag of them from the freezer. “If you must.” She sounded disgusted at the very thought.

Harry snorted and put the peas back where he’d found them. “I’ll add celery.”

“Where’d you learn to cook?” There wasn’t a class for it at Hogwarts and Hermione’s own skills in that department had certainly suffered for it. She could brew a potion better than most, but she couldn’t cook to save her life. 

“My dad thinks it’s a valuable life skill. He taught me. It helped when he took over as Head of St. Mungos and mum needed help with my sisters.”

She raised her eyebrows at that and turned on the tabletop to face him more fully. “You have sisters?”

Harry nodded as he stirred the stew he was making. It smelled delicious and Hermione’s stomach growled. “Delilah started after we graduated. She’s in her sixth year now. Ivy is in her third, and Daisy is only eight.”

Hermione smiled. “Cute names.”

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. “Dad thinks it’s adorable. I don’t know why mum lets him get away with it. They’re little devils, despite the names.” He set the lid on the pot and picked up his cocoa. He sat down at the table and took a sip. “Siblings?”

Hermione shook her head. “Only child. My parents won’t admit it, but I’m pretty positive I was an accident.”

Harry raised his cocoa. “Join the club.” She laughed and they clinked their mugs before taking a sip. “My mum refuses to say it, but my godfather spilled the beans ages ago. Not like it’s hard to figure out. They were still kids when they had me. I can’t even imagine having a kid _now_ and they were barely twenty at the time.”

Hermione nodded as she sipped her cocoa. She was glad Harry had insisted on it at the store. He dropped a candy cane into each mug and Merlin, did it taste heavenly. “That makes sense. My parents were still in school. They wanted to be dentists -- well, mum just wanted to be out from my grandparents’ thumb, really. England was a good escape and she grew fascinated by a lot of the things my father was studying. The pregnancy certainly wasn’t planned. It made things easier though.”

“How so?”

“My mum’s a squib,” she confessed. Harry’s eyes widened. “Her parents were forgiving of her running off with my father when I turned out to be magical. Not that _she_ forgave _them_ , but it paved the way for a slightly better relationship.”

“You never said anything at school. I suspect Pansy and Cho would’ve been nicer if you had.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have thick skin. I’d rather them pick on me than some poor first year who is only being introduced to magic. And I can defend myself,” she sniffed. She sipped her drink. Harry couldn’t argue with that. Hermione had slyly given her bullies their just desserts on several occasions while they’d been in school.

“But wouldn’t it make your life easier if people knew _now_? I mean,” he grimaced, “I’ve heard from my godfather and dad about the resistance you’ve gotten in the Wizengamot over your blood status. People say it’s not an issue but we all know it’s hogwash. The Wizengamot has tried to force my dad to name someone else as his heir _multiple_ times.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Really?”

He nodded. “They don’t like that I’m a half-blood and sympathetic to muggle-borns.”

She huffed. “What arseholes. No. I won’t give in to their bullshite. I made a decision when I was younger. I didn’t want to be associated with my grandparents' name. They’re quite affluent in France and I just - I don’t need that sort of attention.” She fiddled with her mug in her hands for a moment. “I got a letter from a young girl a few years ago,” she told him quietly. “Sally Wilson, a first year Hufflepuff. She was being bullied about being a muggle-born. Apparently, Assistant Professor Longbottom showed her some of the statements I’ve made in the Wizengamot and the work I’ve been doing. She read about my achievements at Hogwarts and the records I broke. It meant the world to her.”

Hermione looked up, her eyes teary and a sad smile on her face. “I can’t break little Sally Wilson’s heart, nor all the muggle-borns like her. I wasn’t raised around magic and my parents didn’t tell me until I was ten, when my grandparents basically demanded to meet me. I’m basically a muggle-born. I don’t want anyone to take that from me or the people who look up to me.”

Harry was silent for a long moment as Hermione collected herself. “That’s admirable,” he told her. “I don’t blame you. I’ve met Sally, she’s friends with my sisters. I couldn’t break her heart either.” He grinned up at her. “You’re an often brought up talking point in our house.”

Hermione blushed. “Really?”

“Kidding me? My mum thinks you hung the moon with everything you’ve been doing. You’re changing the world, Granger,” he murmured.

Hermione’s heart fluttered in her chest. His emerald eyes looked like gems at the base of the ocean. The lashes surrounding them were long and dark. The hair on his jaw was growing in and a dark hint of stubble lined his square jaw. God, she thought, he was still so pretty.

The pot of the stove steamed loudly and the water bubbled over the edge. Harry jumped up to attend to the stew. Hermione breathed in a deep, calming breath. She chugged the rest of her now cool cocoa and wished it had something stronger mixed in. Maybe they’d grab a bottle of whiskey while they delivered their letter tomorrow.

She turned back to the sliding glass door that led out onto the porch and noted that the snow was at least a foot higher. The wind howled. “I think we’re going to get snowed in.”

“We can apparate,” he replied absentmindedly as he pulled the pot off the burner and turned the stovetop off. 

“Would anything be open?” she asked over her shoulder.

Harry looked up with a frown. “I don’t know. Aren’t they used to this level of snow? That girl said it was average.”

She shrugged. “She also said a blizzard was rolling in.” Hermione stood and placed her mug in the sink. “Cuppa?”

“Ta.”

She filled the metal kettle with water and put it on the burner Harry had just finished using. She flicked it back on and waited while the water within grew to a boil.

“Dinner’s ready whenever tea is.”

“Brilliant.” 

Harry grabbed two bowls and spoons for them each. A few dinner rolls they’d bought were placed on the long kitchen table. He spooned the stew into each bowl and set them at seats opposite from one another. Hermione poured them a cup of tea each and they doctored their drinks before heading to the table. 

Hermione hummed in appreciation after the first bite. “This is lovely.”

“Thanks, Granger.” He winked at her. “I’ll teach you to cook while we’re stranded.”

Hermione snorted. “You’d have better luck teaching me to fly.” Harry snorted at that. Hermione’s aversions to flying had been well known throughout Hogwarts. She swallowed another spoonful and said, “At least we aren’t stranded on an island.”

“We were in the middle of the wilderness in _winter_ and you were in a dress.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Alright, fair point.”

“That spell you gave me was perfect. Where did you learn it?”

“I made it,” she replied absentmindedly as she stirred her stew. Harry’s spoon _clinked_ against the bowl and she looked up.

“Are you kidding?” She shook her head. Harry leaned forward. “Do you know how difficult spell creation is?”

Her cheeks pinked. “Yes. I - I dunno, I get bored. I’m a bit of an insomniac, actually. Reading only keeps me up at night even more, so I started playing with spell creation to while away the hours.” She shrugged. “I have a contact at the ministry who patents them for me under a pseudonym.”

“Why?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t need the recognition.” He stared at her and she huffed. “Oh, stop it. You were at the ICW for healing _and_ being a Hit Wizard. Do you even understand how incredible that is? I didn’t even know they _allowed_ that.”

Harry’s cheeks tinged pink and he looked down at his stew. He raised a hand and ran it through the messy hair at the back of his head. She knew it was a nervous tick of his, she’d seen him do it dozens of times while they were Heads together in their seventh year. “They did it for Healer Andolan -- he’s the Head of the Maternity Ward at St. Mungos and he gave me a glowing recommendation.” He raised his eyebrows. “I got in because of contacts. You’ve gotten where you are because you’re brilliant.”

Hermione frowned at him. “If you weren’t as good as you are, the ICW would have kicked you on your arse -- contact or none. That sort of program likely requires recommendations.” She raised an eyebrow and he nodded reluctantly. Hermione pointed her spoon at him. “Don’t pretend your accomplishments are anything less than they are. I spent years downplaying what I could do to avoid the teasing and it’s no way to live. Fuck everyone else.”

Her words startled a laugh out of Harry and she smiled. “Christ, the mouth on you, Granger.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed louder. 

They finished their meal and Hermione offered to wash everything up. She stored the rest of the stew in the fridge before joining Harry on the couch. She tucked herself under the heavy quilt with him and stuck her cold, sock-covered toes under his thigh. He allowed it but sent her a raised eyebrow that she ignored.

The heater had all but banished the chill from the house. Harry kept it fed with the wood they had on hand beside it, but it was beginning to dwindle. They’d need to either buy or chop more of it tomorrow. Hermione had no clue if anything would be open tomorrow, but she hoped so. With every day that passed that they couldn’t send their letter, the longer it would take for people to find them.

“Board game?”

Hermione blinked and looked up from where she’d been lost in thought. “Excuse me?”

Harry nodded to the tall bookcase across against the wall beside the tele. It had several muggle children and teen books on it and only a few old adult detective novels. She’d already inspected it earlier. On the bottom shelf was a selection of board games that she hadn’t even glanced at. 

She raised her eyebrows at Harry. “Seriously?”

He shrugged and grinned boyishly. “I play them with my sisters. Come on, it’ll pass the time.” He patted her leg before standing. And that’s how Hermione ended up shouting at Harry no less than an hour later for being a cheater in the middle of an intense game of Monopoly. 

“How could I cheat?” he protested as he laughed.

“I don’t know!” she shouted. He already owned several hotels and she was suddenly bankrupt. “But you did it!” Harry fell back against the seat of the couch as he laughed louder. Hermione glared at the board and tried to figure out how he’d done it. “I keep getting sent to jail! I can’t even collect when you land on my spaces! That’s not in the rules. I know it isn’t.” She searched the box for the fourteenth time since they’d started playing and still couldn’t find the rule book. She crossed her arms over her chest and hissed as she jostled the wound on her chest.

Harry sobered at the sound. “Come on, we need to have a look at that again.”

“But the game!” she insisted.

Harry bit back an amused smile. “We’ll call it a tie.” She huffed at that. Harry summoned his healing kit and moved to sit on the couch. He nodded to the seat in front of him and Hermione rolled her eyes as she stood and sat across from him. She pulled the massive jumper she’d bought that day off and pushed her braid out of the way.

She’d woken to her hair in a wild mess that morning and was still a bit sore about it. It was frizzier than it should have been and her styling products had redried into place with it up in the pineapple ponytail. The only solution had been to braid it out of her way. She had some of her products with her and wondered if she’d be able to wash her hair tomorrow. It was an all-day endeavour, really. 

Harry finished reapplying potions and creams to her wound. He cast a few charms over it before reapplying a fresh bandage. 

“How’s it looking?” she asked when he was done. She put her jumper back on. 

“Good. It’s almost fully healed over, but it’ll likely leave a mark.” Hermione made a face. “You can easily have it glamoured or go to a specialist to have it removed entirely.”

She nodded her head from side to side as she considered that. It was expensive, but it might be worth it just to avoid her grandparents’ opinions on it. They’d force her to do it if they even caught a glimpse of it. “I’ll see what it looks like after everything’s said and done.”

Harry nodded and packed away his things. He vanished her old bandage. 

“Another game?” she suggested.

He snorted. “Not bloody likely. You’re way too competitive.”

“You played quidditch,” she protested.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “You were going to throw the board at me. No - don’t even try to deny it. I saw the thought cross your mind.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you legilimens?”

Harry shook his head and grinned. “No, but good to know I was right.” She rolled her eyes and looked away. “I’ve been trained in occlumency, but that’s it. I don’t like the innate need for aggression involved in resiliency.”

“Aggression?”

He nodded. “Breaking into someone’s mind isn’t kind or gentle. You need to have an underlying aggressive personality to naturally do that to someone. It’s a bit like an Unforgivable, like that. You have to really want it in a negative way.” He shook his head. “I just can’t train myself to be that way. Occlumency is much easier. It’s about protection and safety.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I never tried to learn resiliency, but when I studied occlumency, it wasn’t anything like that. I was told it was all about being a blank wall and not thinking or feeling anything.”

Harry made a face. “That’s the popular theory, but I find only people who aren’t very empathetic are the ones who can accomplish it like that. It’s certainly not the way I would have taught _you_.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Meaning?” There was a dangerous edge to her voice. 

“Meaning, you’re very compassionate. You’d have to be to fight for creature rights the way you do. You’re relentless and passionate about people. It’s very obvious to anyone who listens to you in the Wizengamot or reads the papers you’ve published that you care about every person that you fight for.”

Hermione stared at him for a long moment. She didn’t know what to say to that or what to think. When she finally opened her mouth, the words that came out were, “You called them people.”

“Well, they are, aren’t they?” He shrugged.

Hermione’s face heated as she stared at him. Merlin, she was blushing so hard she thought her face might erupt into flames. She blinked quickly and looked away, hoping that not staring directly at him would quell her racing heart. They’d never talked like this when they were in school together. They’d never talked much at all. Had he always been like this? 

Hermione’s fingers tingled to reach out to him. It was so rare to meet someone who shared her opinions. The wizards she knew were indulgent, at best. They thought her crusade was ‘cute’ and that one day she’d get off her soapbox and settle down like a ‘proper witch.’ Her grandparents certainly hoped she would. 

Hermione jumped to her feet before she said or did something stupid. “I’m going to read a book,” she decided in a high voice. She plucked a random muggle mystery novel from the shelf and plopped down on the other couch. It lacked the warmth of the one she’d shared with Harry. It felt distant -- like she was oceans away. 

Hermione pulled the blanket across the back over her lap and opened the book without another word. She couldn’t wait to get to the conference and far away from this confusing, beguiling wizard.

# Night Three

~*~

Harry was stringing up lights around the living room. Hermione watched him with vague amusement from her seat on the couch beside the heater. He’d bought them while he’d been in town to deliver their letter to the Canadian Ministry. Only a few shops had been open, the rest were shut down due to the snow. 

Hermione wondered if it was her own bad luck or their combined luck that had them stuck in the middle of nowhere during a bloody blizzard of all things. The snow hadn’t stopped since they arrived and it was at least waist high on the back deck. Harry and she periodically cast charms outside the front door to keep it from being snowed in.

Harry had learnt that the train station was a fair drive away. They couldn’t walk it and neither had been before, so they couldn’t apparate. The only taxi in the area was off for the holidays -- which Hermione thought was just plain ridiculous. Even if the taxi had been running, she doubted that it would have gotten far in the snowstorm. There were no two ways about it. They were stuck.

It continued to snow.

Everywhere around them was were piles of snow over a meter in height in some places. The world was like a snowglobe. The sun during the day sparkled off of the top of it like glittering diamonds. The coniferous trees that lined the property looked like something off of a postcard. Hermione had never seen anything like it.

“Is this really necessary?” she asked before she sipped her tea.

Harry turned to her with one arm still stretched to hang the Christmas lights and a frown on his face. “I know you don’t really celebrate, but I do. I want things to be a bit more festive. And the lights are white, rather than the multicoloured Christmas ones.”

Hermione smiled. “Blue and white are Hanukkah colours.”

He grinned and nodded as he turned back to his work. “I’m going to pretend like I knew that.”

She laughed. 

He’d spent the day putting up Christmas laurels. There was a cheery poinsettia on the kitchen table and even a nutcracker figurine on the bookcase. Hermione was more amused by it than anything. She was used to the Christmas aesthetic from her mother’s enthusiasm and, of course, her years at Hogwarts. 

“Going to cut a tree next?” she teased.

Harry stretched to hook the wire around the final nail in the wall and his jumper rode up his back. She saw the slightly tanned skin that was exposed and her mouth went dry. He made a sound of accomplishment when he finally got it hung and stepped back. He turned to her with a bright smile that was half satisfaction and half teasing. His eyes glittered with mischief and Hermione forced herself not to squeeze her thighs together. 

“Don’t tempt me,” he said and she wondered if he was reading her mind. Her cheeks were warm again. Merlin, at this rate, he was going to think she had a fever.

He turned back around and Hermione gulped down her tea to calm her racing hormones. He bent down and plugged the lights in. They lit up around the room, bright and white. They were beautiful. 

“I’ve got something for you,” he said as he headed past her and to the kitchen. Hermione turned on the couch and watched him pull a few things out of one of the bags he’d brought back from his trip into town. “It’s just a normal candle holder,” he said as he pulled out a metal candlestick. “But there’s enough here I figured we could transfigure it.”

Hermione stood and came around the couch. She set her mug down on the wooden table and Harry emptied two packages of candles onto the table as well. Some were white and other packages had different colours. Hermione slowly went to his side as he spoke.

“I wasn’t sure if colours meant anything, so I got some of each. All the candles are the same size, but they don’t match the candle holder. We’ll have to transfigure that part as well but-”

-His words were cut off as Hermione threw her arms around his waist. Harry released a short puff of air as she nearly knocked the wind out of him. Slowly, Harry’s arms curled around her shoulders. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Anytime, Granger.”

She pulled back suddenly and smiled despite the tears in her eyes. Harry looked away and coughed into his fist. She took a second to collect herself before she pulled her wand out. “You’re right,” she said and any indication of tears were already gone, “there’s definitely enough here to transfigure it into something we need.” Hermione waved her wand in the air and seamlessly morphed the thick candlestick holder into a smaller, metal menorah. 

Hermione sat down at the table and Harry joined her. He emptied out the white candles. “White and blue, right?”

She smiled at him. “It doesn’t matter. For lights, sure. But we always used different colours for the candles. I appreciate the thought, though.”

He grinned at her and handed her a white candle. She tried to fit it in the holder but the candle was a bit too big. Hermione fiddled around with the transfiguration a few times before she got it right. “Ha!” she exclaimed. She cast a charm over it so the menorah wouldn’t revert back any time soon. “Perfect. Okay, it’s the third night now. We need four candles. You can choose the colours.”

Harry immediately opened up the colourful box of candles. They were long and thin, sort of like birthday candles but thicker. They weren’t as robust as pillar candles. If Hermione didn’t know any better, she’d have said they were actually Hanukkah candles. 

Harry looked like a little kid as he excitedly put together a collection of candles. He went with a white and green pattern and Hermione rolled her eyes at the Slytherin colour scheme. She didn’t complain. 

She lit a small flame at the end of her wand and stuck three of the candles into the first three holders on the far left of the menorah. The fourth candle was green and she lit the wick. She used the candle she was holding to light the three others before warming the end of it and sticking it into the centre-most candle holder on the menorah that was just slightly raised above the others.

Harry raised his eyebrows. He looked back and forth between her and the menorah. “Is that - is that everything?”

Hermione smiled at his tone, which was so obviously trying to not be offensive. “Well, there’s a prayer in Hebrew.” She wrinkled her nose. “But my dad does it and I don’t know it all that well. Just the beginning, really. We’re-” she shrugged- “we’re not all that religious, really. But being Jewish is a part of my heritage and it’s tradition to acknowledge my ancestors and what they went through.”

He grinned. “I like that. Mum’s a bit the same. We’re not allowed to use magic to decorate the house.” He nodded towards the lights that he’d painstakingly put up without the help of a wand. “She enjoyed the process of doing it as a kid and she wants us all to experience that.” He looked up at the pretty white lights and the wreaths around the cottage. “It’s definitely something I’ll continue.”

Hermione rested her hand on top of his. He looked back at her and she squeezed his hand gently. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Seriously, you didn’t have to do this and I… I really appreciate it.”

Harry’s grin widened into a charming smile and it occurred to Hermione that it was just his smile. He wasn’t trying to charm her. He was just naturally so. “I was happy to do it.” He turned his hand under hers and linked their fingers together. 

Tingles raced up and down Hermione’s arm. She couldn’t stop the silly smile that spread across her face even if she tried. She cleared her throat and turned back to the menorah. Harry didn’t let go of her hand and neither did she.

“Now, we let the candles burn out on their own. All the way down to the wick.”

“We should put a plate under it to catch the drip.” Hermione nodded and summoned a plate. It magically shuffled under the menorah. They sat together for a while and watched the candles burn. 

~*~

Hermione laid before the crackling heater. Harry had picked up several logs while in town and the supply was already dwindling again. They’d decided to stay by the fire, despite the fact that the house had grown warmer. They hadn’t said anything about it, simply hunkered down onto the mattress side by side. 

Harry’s soft breath ghosted across the back of her neck. He was fast asleep and had been for a few hours. She couldn’t sleep. Her insomnia was getting at her again. Her mind was racing and it didn’t matter that her eyes were so heavy they hurt or that her body felt like it was sinking into the mattress -- her mind was wide awake. 

Harry’s body was pressed up against her back. She had awoken to him like that the day before. Their legs were tangled together under the numerous blankets and his arm was stretched across her body. Her fingers traced the lines on his palm as he slept soundly. 

It felt comfortable to lie in his arms. Far more comfortable than it should have. Despite having worked together as Heads when they were still kids, they didn’t know much about each other. Well, she supposed they did now. There was no one else to talk to while they were stuck in this cottage and they whiled away the hours playing games and talking over tea. 

She’d never really spent time with him like this and it was different than what she’d expect. He was easygoing but could be coaxed into a heated debate if he wanted. He was a jokester but also brilliant. He was beautiful, which was just unfair. She could probably stare at him for hours. He was like Michaelangelo’s _David_. 

Her fingers trailed up his long, strong arm. She followed it as she slowly shifted onto her back, careful not to disturb Harry. He shifted in his sleep and his arm tightened around her. His face pressed into the crook of her shoulder which was now fully healed thanks to his careful healing. She could feel his lips against the exposed skin above the collar of her jumper. 

Hermione watched the light from the fire dance across her face. Her fingers itched to touch the slowly growing shadow along his jawline. His lashes cast long shadows across his cheekbones. 

She’d always thought he was handsome. It was sort of hard not to. He was so pretty it was unfair. He’d always been nice to her too. The other Slytherins had made it known that they thought she was dirt and the Ravenclaws had resented the fact that a Gryffindor was smarter than them. Even her own house had been a bit cold towards her. Neville had been her closest friend until Luna joined them in second year. Though she wasn’t a part of their house, she’d immediately become their third. All three of them had been bullied from time to time. Banding together had been an act of survival just as much as friendship. 

But Harry had never been mean to her. She heard him telling Draco Malfoy off for his treatment of her once. She and Luna had hidden around the corner and remained absolutely breathless as he cut into a boy that everyone had thought was his best friend. It hadn’t resulted in some sort of fight, like she thought it would, and Hermione often wondered if it wasn’t the first time Harry had told the other boy off. 

He’d gotten her a menorah, she thought breathlessly. 

Tears sprung to her eyes. 

Years of exclusion and outright derision from the magical world couldn’t be eroded in a single act. But Harry’s kind gesture meant more to her than words could ever explain. She raised her hand to his head and gently raked her fingers through his inky black hair. Hermione pressed her lips against the top of his head and breathed in his scent of wind and magic. She closed her eyes and tried to find sleep.

# Night Four

~*~

The menorah was lit at sunset and glowed warmly on the kitchen table over a plate to catch the dripping wax. The cottage glowed warmly with the white Christmas lights that Harry had set up the night before. A Christmas tree had replaced the tiny tele in the corner, which Harry had cut just before lunch. It’d started with him chopping wood for their fire, which Hermione was all too happy to leave him to do since he'd insisted on trying it the muggle way. At some point, he’d decided that since they had a menorah, they also needed a tree.

Hermione had joined him for a small hike through the snow along the path that had led them to the cottage in the first place. It was completely covered now and the snow went all the way up to their knees as they trekked through the woods. She’d heckled him for every tree he found until the perfect one had been chosen. He’d insisted on chopping it down and had huffed and puffed his way through it while Hermione laughed.

He’d finally given up halfway through and used a cutting hex before they apparated back to the house with it. Sandwiches had been made and devoured before Harry enlisted her in helping him decorate the tree. They’d transfigured baubles and conjured fairy lights to glow amongst the branches.

“It’s burning!” Hermione warned as she stood in front of the stove.

Harry ran up behind her. “You’re supposed to flip it!” He took her hand in his, which held the plastic spatula, and guided her in flipping the pancake. A black, messy pancake was revealed and he huffed. He turned to her and scowled at her amused smile. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

She shook her head, her smile still in place. “I’m just as bad of an actress as I am a cook.”

Harry huffed. “Flying, cooking, acting. I’m keeping a list.”

“Add occlumency to it,” she suggested as she picked up a chocolate chip from the bowl beside the stove. He was attempting to teach her to make pancakes for their dinner and she’d insisted on chocolate chips in hers. So far, they had two pancakes that were still raw on the inside and three that were burnt. 

“Really? I thought you could despite the poor instruction?”

She shook her head. “I went to an expert for help. It’s a good skill to have when working with certain creatures. But he said that my mind is far too messy for it. I have an eidetic memory,” she explained and stepped aside when he nudged her. She willingly handed over the spatula. “I’m constantly absorbing information and that stops me from being able to block people out. My mind takes the intruder in like it’s new information.”

Harry scraped away the ruined pancake and poured a fresh one onto the skillet. “I wonder if you could use that to your advantage?”

She popped another chocolate chip into her mouth and chewed. “How so?”

“Well, if someone breaks into your mind, you’d likely be able to see into theirs as well. Unless they’re completely devoid of emotion, a legilimens tends to bring their own memories and information into their victim's mind with them. Most people can’t do anything with it, but you might be able to do so.”

Hermione thought about that as she munched on her chocolate chips. “I suppose. But I’d still be at risk from legilimency no matter what. I can’t do much with what I find if they render me useless.” 

He nodded his head. “Fair point.”

She looked away as her mind began to race. “I wonder if I could make a charmed object or something that could fight off legilimency. Like an occlumency ward.” Her eyes widened as she gasped. “That’d be brilliant!”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “People have tried, but I don’t think anyone’s succeeded. You’d have a hard time getting the word out though. The Wizengamot wouldn’t want even less control over their people than they’d like to have.” He looked at her pointedly as he added a few chocolate chips to the pancake.

Hermione didn’t look the least bit ashamed. If anything, she looked proud. “If my Muggle-Born Rights Bill passes, then the Wizengamot will have loads of power still, but it will also be in the hands of the people that are affected by that power.” 

“Like I said,” he responded in an amused tone, “less control than they’d like to have.” She snorted. He flipped the pancake to reveal a perfectly golden top. “See?”

“Like magic,” she teased. 

He shook his head at her. “You’re hopeless. Why am I wasting my time?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m thoroughly enjoying how frazzled you’re getting.”

He raised his eyebrows as a smile stretched across his face. “Are you? Good to know you’re a sadist.” She stuck her tongue out at him and he huffed. “So mature,” he teased. “I feel like I’m babysitting.”

“Oi!” She laughed and poked his side. Harry practically jumped away from her and her eyes widened. “Are you ticklish?”

He pointed the spatula at her. “We are in the kitchen. No horseplay in the kitchen!” His cheeks were bright red and Hermione laughed at how ridiculous he looked as he brandished the plastic kitchen tool like a wand. 

“You are!” she exclaimed with delight. She smiled brightly but didn’t move.

He eyed her warily. “The pancake is going to burn,” he warned her. 

She nodded. “You should take care of that.” Hermione couldn’t hide the mischievous smile on her face even if she tried.

Harry shot her a look. He knew what was coming. His eyes flickered back and forth between her and the pancake. He finally decided to take his chances and went to take the pancake off the skillet. She poked his side and he jumped. 

The pancake flew into the air. It sailed over their heads. Harry and Hermione watched as it soared overhead. It hit the table with a muted _thud_ and broke apart. 

Harry’s eyes flickered to Hermione. Her shoulders were shaking as she tried to repress her laughter. She caught the look in his eye and turned just as he dashed after her. “No running in the kitchen!” she shouted as she raced around the kitchen table. She’d only just made it around the corner when his hands caught her around her waist. “No!” she screamed as he picked her up. 

Harry turned and fell back against their makeshift bed on the floor. They bounced and Hermione squealed as she flopped off of him and over onto her stomach. She scrambled to get up but Harry was already on her. His fingers attacked her sides and she burst into laughter. She fell onto her stomach as he tickled her. Her legs kicked and she scrambled to getaway. She rolled onto her back and her breath caught. Harry’s fingers stilled.

He was leaning over her. His face was so close. His glasses hung low on his nose and the light of the fire flickered across his face. Her eyes trailed down his nose to his pink lips surrounded by the beginnings of a dark beard. 

His mouth pressed against hers and her lashes fluttered shut. Hermione swooned as his intoxicating scent swept over him. His tongue swept across her bottom lip and she eagerly parted her lips for him. She sank into the feel of his body pressing her into the mattress and the taste of him on her tongue. 

Her fingers curled into the silky strands of his hair. She felt Harry’s fingers touch her exposed midriff above her leggings. His warm, calloused fingers teased the soft skin of her stomach and sent tingles through her entire body. 

She was breathless. Delirious. 

Harry’s hand moved upward over her jumper and briefly squeezed her breast before he cupped the side of her face. Hermione pulled back with a gasp. Her eyes widened and her chest heaved. Harry’s lips moved to her neck. He licked and nibbled at the sensitive skin there. Hermione’s lashes fluttered again. 

The scent of burning intruded on their bliss.

Harry jumped off of her as if he’d been scalded. “The potatoes!” he shouted as he raced back to the kitchen.

Hermione laid where she was for a long, breathless second. She heard the oven being opened and Harry hastily removed the burnt potatoes from within. Smoke filled the cottage and a smoke detector went off.

“What the fuck is that?” Harry squawked. 

Hermione closed her eyes as she finally descended into laughter. 

# Night Five

~*~

“What’s the reason behind it?” Harry asked as he watched her light the candles of the menorah after sundown. The snow had continued to pile up outside all day. Neither had left the cottage at all. It didn't look like the snow was going to stop any time soon. 

Hermione melted the bottom of the candle and stuck it into place at the centre of the menorah. “Well… there’s a story, I suppose,” she said as she shifted in her seat.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

Hermione eyed him for a moment before she began. “The Jewish people were under persecution _again_ ,” she rolled her eyes. “Forces were sent to turn their temple into a worship of Zeus. And so a resistance was formed against the persecution and they were called the Maccabees.”

“A resistance?” Harry leaned forward. “Alright, Jewish stories are already better than the ones I grew up with.”

She snorted. “You’re such a child.”

His knee nudged hers under the table. “What happened?” he asked, more seriously this time.

Hermione made a face as she tried to edit the story into something of a cliff notes version. “Well, there are historical versions and then there’s the popular version. The popular version is that the Maccabees reclaimed the temple and were holed up inside of it while they waited for reinforcements to come. They had only a small can of oil that would last them only one night. 

“Each night they lit it and used it for warmth and light. They prayed each night that the oil would last long enough so they could survive. The oil, famously, lasted eight nights. Hanukkah is celebrated as the festival lights in their honour.”

Harry grinned. “That’s brilliant. What’s the historical story?”

She smiled at his question. She’d asked the same thing when her father had told her the myth. “The Maccabees won several battles, despite how outnumbered they were. The odds were against them, but they fought back the opposing forces and took the temple back for their people.” She shrugged.

“Also brilliant.”

“I’m glad you like the story,” she replied, amused by his childish enthusiasm. 

He shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t have stories like this. I’ve always found it weird that for as magical as the Wizarding World is, they don’t have stories like that -- stories that sparked entire holidays and created traditions. We just absorbed the Christian holidays.”

“You can’t blame the magical world for that. They’ve been persecuted as well. Innocent people were being burned at the stake if they so much as looked a little different from everyone else. Conforming to popular religion -- even if just in appearance -- was about survival.”

“Jewish people didn’t do that.”

“And they’ve suffered. We’ve been used as scapegoats and villainized and persecuted over and over again for centuries.” She shook her head. “I don’t blame the magical world for protecting itself. I just wish it hadn’t become so closed-minded when it shut itself away.”

“Do you think it’s like that everywhere? Maybe it’s just Magical Britain?”

Hermione rested her chin in her hand as she leaned on the table. She crossed her legs as she thought it over. “Perhaps. I mean, I lived in Magical France during the holidays, but I was with my grandparents during that time. I’d have liked to visit the magical parts of Canada while I was here though.”

Harry smiled at her. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve missed most of the conference. I doubt we’ll make it back in time for the rest or even Christmas. But maybe we could delay a return trip…?”

Hermione slowly sat up. “Oh?”

He glanced up at her shyly. “We could check out some of those magical areas in Canada. Maybe visit their werewolf reserve and speak with the-”

-Harry was cut off by Hermione’s lips on his. She all but threw herself into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. Harry didn’t hesitate to grab hold of Hermione’s hips and draw her in closer. She pressed her chest against his, moulding her body against him. Harry’s fingers curled into her hips as she sat side-saddle across her. He wanted her closer. He wanted all of her and he never wanted to let her go.

She kissed him until he was breathless and lightheaded and only then did she pull back with pink cheeks and pinker lips. “You mean it?” she gasped, just as breathless as he.

Harry blinked dazily. He shook his head to clear it then fixed his glasses as he smiled at her. Her brown eyes were bright and her curls sprung up around her head like a wild mane of chocolate spirals. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever met. “Definitely.”

# Night Six

~*~

Hermione let Harry light the menorah that night as the sun went down. He was as excited as a kid on Christmas and she couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. He followed her direction and lit the candles from left to right with the centre candle before sticking it in its place at the centre most position. 

He smiled brightly at her when he was finished. Hermione laughed.

“Happy?”

He shrugged simply, his smile still in place. “It’s nice. The whole 12 days of Christmas thing never made sense to me. I’m not even sure where it came from, but this has a story to it. I like that.”

Hermione frowned. “I’m not sure where the 12 days of Christmas came from either. I’ve never cared to look.” She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe I am a bit of a grinch.”

He shook his head. “You helped me decorate the tree and you didn’t turn up your nose today when I suggested we bake cookies.”

“Well, of course not, they’re _cookies_.”

He grinned. “Alright, but you’re not a grinch. I was wrong. I get why you wouldn’t be interested in Christmas the same way as other people. With the way everyone else’s cultures and religions get pushed aside, I’d imagine that it feels rather like conforming.”

Hermione nodded as she rested her chin in her hand. The muggle radio played softly in the background. “Pavarti and I used to bond about it. She was so stunned when she learned my mum was Indian in descent -- even if she was born in France. We’d lament the lack of cultural awareness at Hogwarts. She and Padma got so many terrible comments for wearing their saris to the Yule Ball every year.”

Harry glared as he remembered. “I punched Cormac McLaggen in the face in fourth year for that.”

Hermione smiled broadly. “It was my favourite day.”

He snorted. 

The soft dulcet tones of _Clair de Lune_ began to play from the radio. Harry’s head ticked up as he heard it. He stood from the table and held out his hand. Hermione looked at it and up at him again. She had no intentions of taking his hand.

He nodded towards the living room. “Come on.” She wrinkled her nose. “Let a poor man live out his teenage fantasy, will you?”

Hermione’s cheeks turned pink. She reluctantly put her hand in his. He hauled her up and led the way to the living room. Their sock covered feet stepped over the bed. The coffee table was pushed to the side. 

Harry wrapped his arm around Hermione’s waist and pulled her in close. Her lips met his shoulder and her cheeks burned even hotter. Their clasped hands rested beside her face on his chest and they slowly began to sway with the music. It wasn’t a particularly fast song and there wasn’t much room to go anywhere in the small space. But it was nice. 

Hermione rested her head against his chest as they swayed back and forth to the melodious notes. She closed her eyes and remembered the way her parents always looked when they danced at the parties her grandparents brought them to. Flowing dresses and glittering lights across a gleaming ballroom.

She curled her arm around Harry’s waist and let him lead her around the rug. The fire crackled in the background under the dancing piano keys. They skirted the Christmas tree in the corner and she laughed when he nearly tumbled over a stray blanket.

He was anything but smooth. She liked it. She liked how he was charming without thought one moment and then stumbling over himself when he actually tried. Hermione leaned her head back and smiled up at him.

Harry’s eyes flickered across her face. Her breath caught when his eyes settled on her lips. She curled her fingers into the back of his jumper. He leaned down and she rose up on her toes. 

Their lips met in a soft, chaste kiss. Harry’s fingers tangled in her curls and refused to let her go. There were no burning pancakes to worry about or cooking potatoes to ruin the mood. He was going to kiss Hermione Granger for all she was worth and no one and nothing was going to stand in his way.

Hermione didn’t offer an ounce of protest. She willingly melted into the warmth of his embrace. Heat pooled in her belly and stirred her insides into a ball of butterflies. The piano keys swelled around them.

He pulled back a fraction and his lips teased her own. Hermione’s lashes fluttered open. Their eyes met as they stood together in the middle of the cabin. He breathed and she tasted it on her tongue. The Christmas tree’s magical lights reflected back at her in Harry’s glasses. 

_Clair de Lune_ fell back into a slow melody. The lingering keys of the piano felt like the lingering touch of his lips on hers. Soft, sweet -- longing.

Together, they moved towards the bed. Harry pulled Hermione’s jumper over her head to reveal her completely bare underneath. His hands reverently slid across her tanned flesh. His fingers spread across her breasts. 

Hermione moaned. She pulled at his own jumper and he obligingly allowed her to pull it over his head. He fixed his glasses. Hermione had already kicked off her socks and was pushing down her leggings. Harry quickly followed suit and abandoned the rest of his clothes to the pile of fabrics at the end of the mattress. 

Hermione slipped back onto the bed and laid down. Her curls spread across the blankets and the firelight flickered across her naked form. Harry pressed a kiss to her knee. He tasted his way up her body, taking his time to memorize every beauty mark. He kissed every constellation of freckles as he mapped her skin with his hands. 

He buried his face into the side of her neck. She smelled like tulips -- fresh and sweet. Her curls fell through his fingertips like a chocolate waterfall. Hermione’s mouth pressed against his temple. They moved together as if they’d done it before. Their bodies met one another as if they’d only ever belonged to the other. 

No one’s soul had ever touched the other’s so deeply. No one else’s ever would. 

Hermione wrapped her arms and legs around Harry. Moans escaped her mouth in short, needy puffs. Her sweat-slicked skin felt hot. She felt like she was burning and tingling all over. Her insides tightened and the ball of butterflies inside her stomach burst as she cried out in ecstasy. 

They lied together in the afterglow of their coupling. Harry’s fingers traced the lovebites that were already forming on her breasts and neck. The fire crackled in the heater. The wind howled outside as the snowstorm raged on for another night. 

Harry pressed a kiss to Hermione’s forehead. He wasn’t even a little bit concerned that they might not make it back in time for Christmas. He had no desire to leave their cabin any time soon.

# Night Seven

~*~

“Come on,” Harry cajoled as he stepped down from the end of the dock. He landed on the ice-covered lake with ease.

“This is such a bad idea,” Hermione fretted. They were both bundled up in sweaters and jackets with scarves wrapped tightly around their lower faces and hats to protect the tops of their ears. Hermione was wearing no less than four layers and looked a little like a colourful marshmallow. 

“I charmed the ice,” he gently reminded her. “It won’t break.” Bluebells danced above his head, spitting lightly when snowflakes touched them. 

Hermione pursed her lips and glanced around the lake. It was incredibly dark. But a few daytime walks down the dock had allowed her to spot the surrounding cabins. They were close enough to spot them under the glow of bluebell flames. He claimed to have used a Notice Me Not, but Hermione wasn’t sure if she believed it would truly work. Had he cast it across the whole lake? It seemed unlikely.

“I can’t skate,” she pouted, trying yet again to get him to go back inside and stop with this silliness. The snow had finally given them a reprieve and the weather had actually warmed considerably. The piles of snow were thawing bit by bit. Water dripped off the edges of the cabin's roof and the tips of the tree branches all around.

Harry looked up at her from the ice and a charming smile spread across his face. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Hermione refused to admit that her heart skipped a beat. She took his gloved hands and used them to help her down from the dock. The ice wasn’t as slippery as she was expecting and she was mentally grateful for that fact. The ice was bumpy by the dock and she moved carefully away from its protective structure. The further out they got, the smoother and more slippery the frozen lake became. 

She felt like an idiot as she lifted her foot with great exaggeration. She took each step like it would be her last. Hermione was not athletic. Asking her to skate on a lake was like asking her to run a triathlon completely unprepared. It would only lead to disappointment and possible hospitalization. Well, she thought darkly, at least Harry’s a decent healer. 

Once they were further out on the lake, Harry cast a charm to the bottom of his boots. Metal blades formed on the flats of his shoes. 

“Oh, God,” Hermione whined as he bent to do the same to her own. She curled her gloved fingers around his shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut. This was going to be a nightmare, honestly. She could just picture how many times she was going to fall flat on her arse. What if she broke her tailbone? A definite possibility with both her balance and luck.

“There we go.” He stood and she wobbled on her feet like a newborn foal. “Easy does it, ‘Mione.” He grabbed her elbows to help steady her.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. “What did you just call me?”

Harry’s eyes glittered like gems in the light of the bluebell flame. He smiled. “‘Mione.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like that.” Harry’s smile widened. He slowly began to skate backwards and his grip on her arms dragged her along with him. Hermione cried out in shock. “What’re you doing? Stop that! _Harry_!”

Harry shushed her as he laughed. “I didn’t put up a _silencio_. Someone will hear you.”

“Why did we have to do this at _night_?” she whined. Harry continued to skate backward towards the centre of the lake. Their bluebell flames followed them.

“Because the ice isn’t thick enough to skate on without a spell. And the piles of snow had to be cleared with magic too. Muggles would have gotten suspicious.”

Hermione whimpered. “I hate this. I hate you. Why are you doing this to me?”

Harry laughed. He stopped skating and allowed Hermione’s momentum to slide her straight into his embrace. He kissed her pink and cold nose. “Because it’s beautiful and romantic.”

She looked up at him and said seriously, “If I fall through the ice and die in the middle of nowhere in Canada, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “Not much for romance, are you?”

A smile peeked through her sulky facade. “If you thought I was a grinch about Christmas, you should see me on Valentine’s day.”

Harry’s eyes didn’t look away from her for a second. “I plan to.”

The butterflies in Hermione’s stomach made a horrible reappearance. She’d thought she’d conquered those damn things already. Harry seemed to inspire their return at every hour. “Do you?” she whispered.

The wind howled in the distance. Snow fell around them on the dark, frozen lake. The bluebell flames danced and fizzed.

“If you’d let me,” he returned. “It doesn’t have to be romantic.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “But if it were?”

“I was thinking of an opera. Or the ballet. Whichever is showing at the time? We could get all dressed up and pretend we’re fancy.”

“Pretend?” she teased. He shrugged and smiled boyishly. Before she could respond, he tugged on her hands, seamlessly turned on the ice and dragged her along as he skated. “Oh, god! Harry!” she squealed. 

Harry laughed loudly. “You’ve got to skate!”

Hermione bent over. Her legs were ramrod straight and her hands on his arm were like a death grip. “Don’t you dare let go!” she hollered. “I’ll kill you!”

He laughed louder. He slowed to a stop on the ice. His entire body shook with suppressed chuckles as he watched Hermione slowly stand back up. 

She smacked his arm. “That was a horrible trick. We are not going to the opera,” she declared. “You are not going to be rewarded in seeing me in a tight dress after that.”

“Damn.” He turned on the ice again so he was directly before her. He cupped her cheeks and leaned in close. “However will I get you to forgive me?”

“Well…” She raised her hands to his chest and leaned in a smidge. Her lips ghosted against his before she shoved him away. Harry’s eyes widened comically and his feet danced for purchase on the ice. He slipped and fell onto his arse. “You can stop teasing me and teach me to skate!” 

Hermione crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Harry looked up at her with wide eyes. A breathless chuckle left him. 

“Right,” he said. He stood back up and managed to keep his balance. “Tip one: Don’t bruise the instructor.” He rubbed his backside and ignored Hermione’s snort. “Tip two: move your bloody feet, you’re like a statue, woman.”

He took her hand and guided her through the motions. They spent hours on the lake, frozen but too happy to go back inside. It wasn’t until the wind began to grow so strong it nearly carried Hermione away that they finally decided to head back into the warmth of their cabin.

# Night Eight

~*~

Hermione’s hair curtained their faces as she leaned over him and pressed her lips to his. Her tongue swept across his bottom lip and he eagerly opened his mouth to her. She kissed him thoroughly, exploring him like it was the first and last time she’d ever be able to. His hands curled around her backside and squeezed tightly. She moaned into him. 

The temperature had dropped to an almighty -43 degrees celsius last night after they'd come in from ice skating. The snowstorm had finally passed, but the sudden drop in temperature after the brief warm front had solidified all the half-melted snow. Massive icicles hung from every fixture. The tall piles of snow had a layer of ice on top that was so hard, Hermione had easily walked across it that morning without falling through. But it had been as slippery as the lake the night before and she's quickly gone back inside. The tree branches were coated in ice that sparkled in the sunlight. The ice was so heavy that the trees tilted towards the earth, weighed down by the weight of the frozen water that coated its long-fingered ends.

It was insane. Neither Harry nor Hermione had ever seen anything like it. It was like something off of a postcard. Years of winter in Scotland had not prepared them for the ice storm that had transformed their surroundings. The drop in temperature prevailed throughout the day. Even with the heater on, it was still cold. Sex was getting more and more complicated with each layer that Hermione added to her clothing.

Harry rolled to the side, careful not to pull on Hermione’s hair. He’d gotten enough shite for running his fingers through it after she’d spent all day washing and styling it. He pressed himself into the cradle of her hips. Her leg curled around his waist. 

The conference had ended. Still, no one had shown up in search of the two of them. They’d decided to give it a few more days and then try to get a bus or train to Ottawa. It was the nearest area that they knew for sure that had a magical district. 

Harry tugged at the waistband of her leggings. His fingers slipped inside and Hermione hissed at the press of his cold fingers against her skin. His tongue curled against her own as his fingers explored now familiar territory. The familiarity of it didn’t lessen the excitement. 

Harry pulled back just far enough so that he could see her face. Her brows drew together and her lips pursed as if expecting a kiss. Harry resisted the urge to give her exactly what she was looking for. He memorized the freckles across her nose and the beauty mark on her upper lip. He committed every sharp intake of breath and needy whine to memory. 

The taste of her sat heavily on his tongue. Her scent of tulips filled the air and sent him soaring. Hermione twisted and turned under his ministrations. Her eyes sprang open and her mouth made a little ‘o’ as she cried out. She melted into the mattress like butter and Harry followed her. He drew her into her arms and wished for the hundredth time that this would never end.

“It’s a little disappointing, isn’t it?” Hermione said and Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach like a ball of lead.

“What?” He looked down at her where she was resting her head against his chest.

She looked up. “We could have been doing this since our seventh year.”

Harry grinned and the tension in his belly released. “Would you have wanted to? Didn’t I annoy you?”

She raised a teasing eyebrow. “You say that like you don’t anymore.” He huffed a laugh. “I suppose I could have gotten past that. You’re rather talented with your fingers, all considered.”

Harry rolled her onto her back again as she laughed. “Just my fingers?” he teased.

Her hands ran down his jumper clad torso and reached his trousers. She played with the tops of his sweatpants. “I suppose your wand too.” The gleam in her eye suggested she wasn’t talking about the wand on the floor beside them.

A smug smile spread across Harry’s face and Hermione burst into laughter. He shook his head at her. “Oh, you’re trouble, aren’t you?”

Hermione’s laughter grew. “I’ve _never_ been called that in my life.”

“You are,” he assured her. His nose nudged hers. “I’ve been told I have a thing for trouble.”

She smiled up at him as her hands snuck into the waistband of his trousers. Harry caught one of her hands to forestall her progress. Hermione frowned. “What wrong?”

Harry’s emerald eyes darted across her lovely face. His heart began to race in his chest. “I don’t want this to end,” he rushed out. “After we leave the cottage or Canada and we go back to Britain. I don’t want this to be over.”

Her brows furrowed. “You mean, you want to buy a cottage and get stuck in it together again?”

He raised an incredulous brow at her. Was she being deliberately obtuse? “No, I want to see you again. And again. All the time. I want you to look at me and know what I’m going to say before I even open my mouth. I want you to scold me for not putting my socks away and I want to repeatedly teach you to cook and watch you fail. I… I want to kiss you and I don’t want to wonder if it’ll be the last time that I do.”

Hermione stared up at him with wide eyes. A breathless moment passed. She opened her mouth-

“-Harry!” a muffled voice hollered from outside. 

Harry and Hermione shared a startled look. Did they just hear that?

“Harry!” the voice called again, closer this time. Harry jumped to his feet just as someone loudly crashed through the cabin’s front door into the cold entryway. Harry didn’t even make it to the second door before it was being flung open and two robed figures came storming inside. The door slammed shut behind them.

“Dad?”

“Harry!” James cried out in relief. He pulled his son into a tight embrace before he was passed off to a second wizard.

“Sirius?”

“Glad we finally found you, pup.”

James turned and spotted Hermione standing by the mattress. “Miss. Granger! Brilliant. The Canadian Ministry got your post -- but they didn't think much of it 'til we got there. Smart thinking.”

“Thank you,” she replied weakly, her cheeks bright red. 

Harry pulled himself out of Sirius’ stifling hug. He turned to his father. “What are you doing in Canada?”

James raised his thick, black brows at his son. “What do you think? You were reported _missing_. Your portkey deactivated partway through travel. Your mother lit a fire under Minister Fawley’s arse so quickly he nearly had a heart attack.” James shook his head as a breath of relief finally left him. “We didn’t even know if -- Sirius and I portkeyed here immediately.”

Harry blinked widely.

“But I guess we needn’t have hurried,” Sirius quipped as he looked around. “You two were clearly making yourselves comfortable.” He eyed the mattress by the fire-filled heater before his eyes dragged up Hermione’s rumpled form. “ _Very_ comfortable.”

Hermione’s face turned a darker shade of red. “I’m going to pack up my things,” she said in a high voice. She disappeared through the living room and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Harry glared at his godfather. “You’re a git.” Sirius smiled broadly back. 

James smacked Sirius’ chest. “Leave off him. Go back and report that we’ve found them. Floo Lils while you’re at it, will you?”

Sirius nodded. He pulled Harry into another tight hug and pressed a kiss to the younger wizard’s wild hair. “I’m really glad we found you,” he whispered in a rough voice.

Harry hugged him back. “Me too.” Sirius stepped back, his eyes misty as he cleared his throat. He turned and headed out the door. Harry shot his father a look. 

James sighed. “You want me to go with him?”

“Just five minutes,” he begged. 

“I’ll give you twenty. Pack up everything and we’ll come back with officials to remove any trace of you both from the cottage. Alright?”

“Thanks, dad.”

James headed out of the cottage and followed his best friend’s tracks. Two _pops_ sounded to signify their departure. Harry closed the door behind them with a heavy sigh. He turned and went to the loo. “They’re gone,” he told her through the door.

Hermione gasped before the door swung open. “They left us?”

He chuckled under his breath. “No. They’re notifying officials they’ve found us and bringing back some personnel to handle clean up. We need to pack up our things before they return.”

Hermione nodded. “I’ve cleared the loo of my things.” She slipped past him and back into the living room. Hermione drew her wand and waved it around, silently cleaning up all her things and neatly packing them into her muggle suitcase. 

Harry watched her with a heavy heart. All the jumpers, slippers, and even the jacket she’d bought were all tucked away as if they’d never been there -- as if none of it had ever happened. 

“Right,” he said to himself. He went into the bathroom and collected his things with a dejected sweep of his wand. Perhaps it was too much to ask that the beautiful, brilliant witch he’d always dreamt about would return his affections past a winter romance. 

When he entered the living room again, Hermione was gently pulling off each ornament from the tree by hand. Harry frowned as she placed each one in a wood and glass box. He’d never seen it before and assumed she’d conjured it. He came around the couch and joined her by the tree.

“What’re you doing?”

Hermione whipped around and the ornament in her hand went flying. Harry dodged it and turned, catching it quickly before it went sailing across the living room. He turned to her, eyes wide.

“Sorry!” She took the ornament back and placed it in the container. “I just -- I wanted to keep them. Unless you wanted them?” He shook his head, feeling like he was in a daze. 

“I thought Christmas wasn’t your thing?”

“It’s not,” she immediately responded. “I just… It seems a shame to just vanish them.” She turned a pretty gold and glass ornament over in her hands. “We worked hard on them,” she said in a soft voice.

Harry wanted to kiss her so badly in that moment. He swallowed the urge down. “Does that mean I get the menorah?” 

She grinned up at him. “Will you be celebrating Hanukkah next year?”

He grinned charmingly and shrugged. “You’ll have to teach me how again.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she laughed. “It’s not exactly difficult.” He raised his eyebrows, his smile firmly in place. “Fine. I’ll see you next year for Hanukkah then?” Her eyes gleamed with mirth.

He made a sound of displeasure. “That can’t be the only Jewish holiday.”

She smiled. “Passover is around Easter usually,” she teased.

He huffed dramatically. “He’s a marvel idea,” he drawled. “How about we see each other on a day that’s _not_ a holiday?” His lips twitched as he bit back a smile.

She pursed her lips at him in a terrible attempt to hide her own amusement. “Of course we will. You’ve already promised to take me to see the werewolf reserves here and if you think you can wiggle your way out of that one, Mr. Potter, you’re out of your mind.” She handed him the ornament which he put in the box as she spoke. “Now, help me pack. I’m greatly looking forward to heading to the Chateau Laurier, getting an expensive room with a luxurious bath, and making love to you in it.”

Harry let his grin spread across his face. He cupped her face in his hands and leaned in for a long, sweet kiss. “That sounds like the perfect plan,” he breathed against her lips.

Hermione hummed in agreement.

The End

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Harmony & Co. 2020 Advent Calander. 
> 
> As a Jewish girl of mixed descent myself, I wanted to see a bit of representation in the HP world this holiday season. I went with a not so religious version of Hermione as a mixed Jewish girl as well, as this was how I was raised and I figured it would be the easiest and most accurate representation I could give. If you are more religious than what is represented here or the traditions or stories given do not match what you were raised with or believe, I mean absolutely no offence and I hope none was received. 
> 
> This was meant as a mostly warm and romantic story with a sprinkle of cultural self-awareness because I couldn't help myself. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed the story! ❤️xx


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